Sympathy Without the Sympathy – The Response of The Times and The New York Times to the Assassination of Talaat Pasha by Soghomon Tehlirian

Posted on by awharton

James Heathfield, BA History, Level 3, 2022-2023.

Talaat Pasha in 1916, image from Forty Years in Constantinople. The Recollections of Sir Edwin Pears 1873-1915 with 16 Illustrations. Herbert Jenkins Limited, London 1916. Soghomon Tehlirian published in The New Armenia volume 13, May-June 1921.

On a normal day in March 1921 in Berlin, two men far from home had a brief conversation, one man claiming he knew the other as an acquaintance. This conversation would be exceptionally brief however, as said man, Soghomon Tehlirian, then pulled out a revolver on the other man, Talaat Pasha, and killed him there on the spot. Once brought to court for this act, Tehlirian on the stand said that he was compelled to do this act after seeing his mother’s corpse rise and speak to him, commanding him to seek justice on Talaat as he was the perpetrator of the act that led to her death, the Armenian Genocide (Garibian, ‘”Commanded by my Mother’s Corpse”, 223-224). This case was duly reported on in English-language publications, following this sensational story, which appeared to them as a case revolving around unanswered questions about justice for the Armenian Genocide – a cause which they held some sympathy with, The Times itself branding the act which they saw as a lone individual seeking justice as ‘Armenia’s Vengeance’ (TALAAT PASHA MURDERED’, March 16th 1921, Times Newspapers Limited). However, despite this narrative of a lone individual seeking justice, the case was not as simple as that from Tehlirian’s side, though the papers did not know it – and as well, the papers were not always as simple in their sympathy as they should be. This blog post will look at the case of the assassination of Talaat Pasha and the trial against Soghomon Tehlirian through the coverage of both The Times and The New York Times to analyse how these newspapers approached and covered this case – and will argue that it was approached paradoxically with sympathy and without sympathy – as the coverage was filtered through ideas on the Orient and race of the time. Through looking at this case and its coverage, it can help us to understand why responses to the Armenian Genocide at the time were limited and led to its recognition remaining an issue to this day.

To understand the assassination and the trial that followed, it is important to understand some of the background to Armenia in the period – both how it was seen in America and Britain, and as well how Tehlirian ended up assassinating Talaat Pasha. In both America and Britain, the issue of the ‘Armenian Massacres’ as they were then known were something widely covered and discussed in both countries, and both nations made efforts to aid the Armenians during the Genocide against them – most notably the Americans, where scholars like Keith Watenpaugh have argued that the massive response and aid efforts provided to the Armenian people are the origins of modern humanitarianism (Watenpaugh, Bread from Stones, 2-3). Suzanne Moranian discusses as well the efforts of American missionaries in the Ottoman Empire to report on and aid Armenians affected by the massacres – giving attention to the Armenian Genocide’s high-profile coverage in the States and a lot of sympathy generated there. This was rather similar in the United Kingdom as well – where coverage of the Armenian Genocide also served a pragmatic benefit as well as being a moral prerogative – as with the Ottoman Turks being an enemy in the First World War, publicising the genocide provided a moral argument to the fight against them (Laycock, Imagining Armenia, 100). This culminated in British parliament putting together a ‘Blue Book’ – that compiled 700 pages of evidence of the Genocide against the Armenians by the Ottomans (Monger, ‘Networking Against Genocide During the First World War’, 295-6).

These concerted efforts during the war clearly show that there were both major moral and pragmatic sides to the Anglo-American discussion of the war, and that this heavily influenced views on Armenia and generated great sympathy for the Armenian people, that almost certainly coloured The Times and The New York Times’ views on the later case, as we shall see. But it leads to the question of why didn’t the British or Americans do anything beforehand? There was in fact an effort, spearheaded by the British, to punish the leaders of the Ottomans for the Genocide against the Armenians at the ‘Malta Trials’ – the first international attempt to punish people for crimes against humanity (Tusan, ‘”Crimes Against Humanity” ‘, 47-48). But, as Taner Akcam writes, the Malta Trials ultimately failed due to ideas of national sovereignty, and the British in the face of Turkish protests deciding to prioritise their colonial interests in the former Ottoman Empire over the universal principles of justice against the perpetrators of the Armenian Genocide (Akcam, A Shameful Act, (Kindle Edition), loc. 7604-7614). This then highlights in contrast to the great moral ideals held by the Anglo-Americans, the colonialist aims of the period trumped any moral concerns towards the Armenians – something we shall see echoes of in the press coverage.

This led to a depressing situation for the Armenians – the Entente had failed them, and the perpetrators of the genocide were allowed to flee from justice all across Europe. But the Dashnaks, an Armenian political party that had long been resisting Ottoman rule, formulated a plan to take justice into their own hands. Termed Operation Nemesis, after the Greek goddess of justified anger and vengeance, it was a plan to track down and assassinate the perpetrators of the Armenian Genocide and was carried out over the 1920s – one of the most high-profile assassinations, naturally, being that done by Soghomon Tehlirian in assassinating one of the ‘Three Pashas’ of the Young Turks, Talaat Pasha (Garibian, ‘”Commanded by my Mother’s Corpse”’, 231-232).

This assassination was quickly reported on in the world press, and received major articles in The Times and The New York Times – both publishing relatively lengthy articles on the assassination itself and on Talaat Pasha. Despite this being the murder of a former head of state, on which you might expect some minorly flattering commentary, both newspapers are rather unanimous in their condemnation of the man and see the act as one that was inevitably caused by Talaat’s crimes towards the Armenians. They were quick to catch onto this – as once it had been established that it was an Armenian who had assassinated Talaat, both newspapers framed it in the context of Talaat being the main perpetrator of the genocide. The New York Times refers to Henry Morgenthau, the American ambassador to the Ottomans at the time of Talaat being in power there, as having ‘no doubt that Talaat was responsible for the Armenian massacres’, and in their article also make clear mention that he was wanted as a war criminal by the Entente (TALAAT PASHA SLAIN IN BERLIN SUBURB’, March 16th 1921, The New York Times Company). The Times, while not lending itself to as much speculation on the motive for the killing of Talaat just yet, also generally follows the course set out by The New York Times – billing its story on his assassination as ‘Armenia’s Vengeance’, and the article on Talaat’s life and career dedicating most of its time to talking about his pivotal role in the Armenian Genocide and the evidence for this (‘TALAAT’S CAREER’, March 16th 1921, Times Newspapers Limited).

This clearly highlights the sympathy held in the Anglo-American world for the Armenian cause and for justice for the Genocide. By framing it in no uncertain terms as an act of ‘vengeance’ against a wanted war criminal, they justify the act by Tehlirian as being one that restores some justice to the world: by taking out a man who committed atrocious acts and was wanted as a criminal for said acts. This shows clear sympathy with the Armenian cause for justice from the press, in some contrast to their governments of the time (and still today!) in offering recognition of the genocide. This is likely due to the political circumstances of the time, with both the British and American governments losing interest in the Armenian question with the collapse of the Treaty of Sevres and seeking accommodation with the new Turkish government, meaning little reason to concern themselves with the question of recognition of the genocide (Akcam, A Shameful Act, loc. 7727).

But, as can be seen, in their coverage of the trial this sympathy towards the Armenian cause came face to face with ideas on the Orient and race from the period – which presents the paradoxical situation of the papers providing sympathy, yet without seeming to be sympathetic. This can be clearly seen in the most famous incident of the trial process – where Tehlirian gave his account of seeing his mother’s ghost, who was killed in the Genocide, a few weeks before killing Talaat – who told him to kill Talaat, or he would no longer be her son (Garibian, ‘”Commanded by my Mother’s Corpse”’, 223-224). This sensational story once again attracted attention to the case, and this was by design – the defence team for Tehlirian proved his ‘innocence’ in the act through arguing that the violence of the Genocide and witnessing his whole family be killed meant that he did not have control over himself when he committed the act. We now know this defence to be a bit of a stretch, since the act was part of the wider Operation Nemesis, and that Soghomon did commit the killing with deliberate intent – but, the genocide angle was what was presented in court and which evoked the most attention and pathos (Garibian, ‘”Commanded by my Mother’s Corpse”’, 227). This account was duly reported on, being recounted in the articles by The New York Times and The Times – both of which provided a sympathetic commentary of the events and gave full emphasis to this narrative – The Times saying that the story lost ‘a little of its vividness in the interpreters’ rendering’, but that enough ‘atmosphere’ came through to portray a ‘grim picture’ of the massacres (THE AVENGER OF BLOOD’, June 3rd 1921, Times Newspapers Limited). The New York Times as well made it clear to comment that Talaat had been ‘condemned to death as a Turkish war criminal’, providing implicit justification for the assassination as one carrying out a sentence that had been put down on Talaat (‘SAYS MOTHERS GHOST ORDERED HIM TO KILL’, June 3rd 1921, The New York Times Company).

However, this sympathy for Tehlirian’s predicament stands in a confusing contrast to some of the other commentary, which seems to denigrate him and treat the case as almost a window-dressing to observe people of the ‘Orient’. In The New York Times, Tehlirian is referred to as an ‘undersized, swarthily palefaced Armenian’, and saying that during his account his ‘Oriental temperament got the better of him and he shrieked’ (‘SAYS MOTHERS GHOST ORDERED HIM TO KILL’, June 3rd 1921, The New York Times Company). In The Times, they also gave a similar racist description of Tehlirian, treating him almost like a lost child who doesn’t know where he is, and like he doesn’t have the discipline to be in the trial (‘THE AVENGER OF BLOOD’, June 3rd 1921, Times Newspapers Limited). And the weirdest case of this is seen in The New York Times’ article – where, when commenting on the witnesses, they talk about Talaat’s widow, and instead of being concerned about exactly what she’s said, how she’s reacting to the trial, and what she could possibly say, they decide to instead mention how ‘attractive’ she is, and that she was ‘fashionably attired in modern black silk mourning’ (‘SAYS MOTHERS GHOST ORDERED HIM TO KILL’, June 3rd 1921, The New York Times Company). As should be plainly obvious, expressing the attractiveness of Talaat’s widow was completely inappropriate to the description of the case and the course of it. What it highlights is the degree to which Orientalism impacted descriptions of the case – by giving such in-depth and racist descriptions of Soghomon and Talaat’s Turkish widow, and denigrating Tehlirian’s testimony as being coloured by his ‘Oriental temperament’. There was clearly a tension in the sympathy for the Armenians being limited by the proscribed racial ideas of the time. As Jo Laycock notes, mistrust of Armenian accounts of the genocide were present as soon as they were around, due to popular ideas from the time of people from the Near and Middle East as being prone to ‘sensationalism’ and letting their ‘emotions overtake them’ – unlike the clearly very rational and professional westerners who would never be prone to such things (Laycock, Imagining Armenia, 106). This clearly shows this Anglo-American press as holding sympathy without sympathy – showing care towards the events of the Armenian Genocide and happily publishing it – but still being mistrustful of the people actually providing the evidence, and couching everything they say in Orientalist tropes.

To conclude, the Anglo-American response to the case of Soghomon Tehlirian is a perplexing one. In both of their coverage, The New York Times and The Times were careful to always emphasise the crimes of Talaat and that he was wanted in the Western World as well as a war criminal, highlighting the act carried out by Tehlirian as one of justice against a criminal, and making common cause with the Armenian desire for justice for the Genocide committed against them. Yet, when it came to covering the man himself, and any of the actual victims, there was a clear reticence to present them fairly, and without resorting to Orientalist descriptions that denigrated and treated the subject as a lesser being. This highlights again why recognition was often limited: as national governments both lost interest due to the changing circumstances in the region, and on a public level, due to widely held ideas on race and the Orient at the time continuing to hold back sympathy for the Armenian people.

Soghomon Tehlirian monument on his grave in Ararat Cemetery, Fresno, California, constructed in 1969. Image from 2022 by Asost, Wikipedia public domain.

Bibliography

Akcam, Taner. A Shameful Act: The Armenian Genocide and the Question of Turkish Responsibility (Kindle Edition).

Garibian, Sevane. ‘“Commanded by my Mother’s Corpse”: Talaat Pasha, or the Revenge Assassination of a Condemned Man’, Journal of Genocide Research 20:2 (2018), 220-235.

Laycock, Jo. Imagining Armenia; orientalism, ambiguity and intervention (Manchester, 2016).

Monger, David. ‘Networking Against Genocide During the First World War: The International Network Behind the British Parliamentary Report on the Armenian Genocide’, Journal of Transatlantic Studies 16:3 (2018), 295-316.

Moranian, Suzanne E. ‘The Armenian Genocide and American Missionary Relief Efforts’, in Jay Winter (ed.), America and the Armenian Genocide of 1915 (Cambridge, 2003), 185-213.

Tusan, Michelle. ‘“Crimes against Humanity”: Human Rights, the British Empire, and the Origins of the Response to the Armenian Genocide’, American Historical Review 119:1 (2014), 47-78.

Watenpaugh, Keith. Bread from Stones: The Middle East and the Making of Modern Humanitarianism (Oakland, 2015).

Primary Sources

‘TALAAT PASHA MURDERED’, March 16th 1921, Times Newspapers Limited – GALE|CS201658480, [online source] https://go-gale-com.proxy.library.lincoln.ac.uk/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Newspapers&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=134&searchType=BasicSearchForm&currentPosition=67&docId=GALE%7CCS201658480&docType=Article&sort=Pub+Date+Reverse+Chron&contentSegment=ZTMA-MOD1&prodId=TTDA&pageNum=4&contentSet=GALE%7CCS201658480&searchId=R1&userGroupName=ulh&inPS=true, accessed January 19th 2023.

‘TALAAT’S CAREER’, March 16th 1921, Times Newspapers Limited – GALE|CS186323056, [online source] https://go-gale-com.proxy.library.lincoln.ac.uk/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Newspapers&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=134&searchType=BasicSearchForm&currentPosition=66&docId=GALE%7CCS186323056&docType=Article&sort=Pub+Date+Reverse+Chron&contentSegment=ZTMA-MOD1&prodId=TTDA&pageNum=4&contentSet=GALE%7CCS186323056&searchId=R1&userGroupName=ulh&inPS=true, accessed January 19th 2023.

‘THE AVENGER OF BLOOD’, June 3rd 1921, Times Newspapers Limited – GALE|CS152768707, [online source] https://go-gale-com.proxy.library.lincoln.ac.uk/ps/retrieve.do?tabID=Newspapers&resultListType=RESULT_LIST&searchResultsType=SingleTab&hitCount=134&searchType=BasicSearchForm&currentPosition=57&docId=GALE%7CCS152768707&docType=Article&sort=Pub+Date+Reverse+Chron&contentSegment=ZTMA-MOD1&prodId=TTDA&pageNum=3&contentSet=GALE%7CCS152768707&searchId=R1&userGroupName=ulh&inPS=true, accessed January 19th 2023.

‘TALAAT PASHA SLAIN IN BERLIN SUBURB’, March 16th 1921, The New York Times Company – 98463368, [online source] https://www.proquest.com/hnpnewyorktimes/docview/98463368/fulltextPDF/E06BEEC161EF430DPQ/2?accountid=16461, accessed January 19th 2023.

‘SAYS MOTHERS GHOST ORDERED HIM TO KILL’, June 3rd 1921, The New York Times Company – 98471636, [online source] https://www.proquest.com/hnpnewyorktimes/docview/98471636/fulltextPDF/47A4CE13E93049F2PQ/1?accountid=16461, accessed January 19th 2023.

Armenian Film and Genocide Recognition

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BEN MAGYAR, BA History, Year 3, 2022-2023.

“Who remembers the extermination of the Armenians?”

Whether actually said or not, the prevalence of this quote used in Atom Egoyan’s ‘Ararat,’ and the fact most people don’t understand it, shows the failure of historians to spread knowledge of the Armenian Genocide to mainstream interest. It remains a hidden history, a name many may have heard of, but do not understand. In an attempt to rectify it, and ensure the genocide is not forgotten the aforementioned Armenian-Canadian director Atom Egoyan, as well as Irish director Terry George have both made films on the subject.

Ararat, film posters from USA, France and Italy for the 2002 release, wikipedia fair use policy (reproduction at low resolution for educative purposes).

Egoyan’s film, ‘Ararat’ (2002), follows Rafi, an Armenian man whose mother is an Art-Historian specialising on Armenian artist Arshile Gorky, and whose father is an Armenian revolutionary, who died in an assassination attempt on a Turkish official. Both Rafi and his mother are brought on to assist with making a film about the genocide, a direct attempt to combat denialism within the film. George’s film, ‘The Promise’ (2016), is a historical epic about the genocide itself, showing the journey of medical student Mikael after he befriends, and is subsequently torn from, fellow Armenian Ana and her American fiancé Chris, by the eruption of violence. These films are indicative of wider trends in the use of films to gain recognition for atrocities, a means of combating denialists, as well as a move to give greater space to portraying the identity and culture of oppressed minorities in popular film.

Genocide Film

The uncovering of hidden histories is a hobby for a lot of people, and no medium is better at spreading these histories than film. Documentaries and historical dramas reign supreme in attempts at introducing lesser-known events to the public, especially with the help of the internet. Take, for example, ‘Trial of the Chicago 7’ (2020) or ‘Hacksaw Ridge’ (2016), which both take seldom-acknowledged aspects of history and demand their importance be recognised by audiences. Part of the issue that faces the representation of the Armenian Genocide that these two films did not encounter is the need to fill in a wider context. These two films are set during the Vietnam War and Second World War respectively, two extremely well known, documented, and filmed events in history. Meanwhile the First World War’s filmographic presence has suffered in the midst of the Second, therefore it only makes sense that the genocide is further underrepresented.

Genocide in film is a genre that is continuously increasing in size as time goes on, and is growing to include films that aren’t just about the Holocaust (which dominates genocide film). In the case of the Holocaust, film has been massively successful, producing numerous critically-acclaimed films such as ‘Schindler’s List’ (1993) and ‘Life Is Beautiful’ (1997), spreading the story of the Holocaust all over the world. Other genocides have succeeded in gaining recognition through less widespread, but equally praised films, such as the Cambodian Genocide with ‘The Killing Fields’ (1984) and the Rwandan Genocide with Terry George’s other genocide film, ‘Hotel Rwanda’ (2004). These films serve multiple functions: remembrance and recognition, promoting public memory through activism and perhaps even pushing forward policy.

Schindler’s List, 1993 poster, and Hotel Rwanda, 2004 poster, wikipedia fair use policy (reproduction at low resolution for educative purposes).

The remembrance aspect tends to take from real life accounts to observe and portray the violence of the atrocities committed and recognise any heroes or allies of resistance. It is seemingly more concerned with documentation, to ensure these harrowing periods of history are never repeated (Baron, ‘Holocaust and Genocide Cinema’, 5). This is where George’s ‘The Promise’ edges out Egoyan’s ‘Ararat’ due to the heavier focus, and superior portrayal of the atrocities committed. The wiping out of Mikael’s village and the murder of his entire family, including his pregnant wife and their unborn child is one of the more severe scenes in the film and cannot help but make you sympathetic towards the Armenians. This sympathy is then converted into anger.

Similarly, the recognition of specific people, who in the face of danger committed heroic acts to aid and save those being persecuted, has becoming a running theme of genocide films. Like Oskar Schindler in ‘Schindler’s List’ both ‘The Promise’ and ‘Ararat’ have figures that match this description. In ‘Ararat’ this is Clarence Ussher, the real life American missionary whose diary, the film and the film within the film uses as evidence to base scenes on. In ‘The Promise’ this role is filled by multiple characters. Most notably this includes Christian Bale’s Christopher Myers, an American journalist who feels compelled to document the atrocities and help smuggle Amrenians out of the country and give them asylum in America. There is also the American Ambassador, who confronts Ottoman-Turkish CUP officials, the French Admiral, who aids with helping refugees escape, the sympathetic son of an Ottoman General, who is executed for aiding the Armenians and their allies multiple times, and, again, the recurrence of the American Missionaries. Apart from documenting and recognising real people, or groups, who aided victims of genocide, these characters aim to show the repercussions of opposing oppression, even against your own government: like Schindler or the son of the General in ‘The Promise.’ This is in an attempt to whip up determination from viewers to stand against modern-day injustices and push for the recognition of previous ones (Baron, ‘Holocaust and Genocide Cinema’, 5). For example, in ‘The Promise,’ Chris Myers starts as a belligerent alcoholic, who finds redemption in helping smuggle Armenians out of the country, as well as reporting on the events. He makes a lifelong friend in Mikael for his eforts, and is held in regard by Yeva for the latter part of her life.

Clarence Ussher, An American Physician in Turkey: A Narrative of Adventures in Peace and War (Boston; New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1917). https://archive.org/details/anamericanphysic00usshuoft

The utility of film over other mediums lies largely in its accessibility. Film is able to reach a wider audience, while its wide cultural prevalence across borders makes it harder to ignore to both Turkish and non-Turkish audiences. The threat posed by this film to denialists is made evident by attempts to overshadow ‘The Promise.’ Not only was the film review bombed before its public release, gaining 55,000 one star reviews on IMDB while having only been shown in three screenings, but it coincided with the release of the Turkish sponsored film ‘The Ottoman General.’ Based on a similar premise, the film also follows a love triangle in the same era, yet portrays the genocide as two-sided, fitting, rather coincidentally, with Turkey’s official stance.

Genocide Denial

To this day, the Turkish government has failed to recognise the Armenian Genocide as having happened (Heckner, ‘Screening Armenian Genocide’, 133). It is not alone in its attempts to deny the occurrence of genocides in history. While typically genocide denial tends to stem from the hatred of the minority, such as in the case of the Holocaust, Neo-Nazis’ hatred of Jews, denial of the Armenian Genocide stems from a more complicated nationalistic root. The prevalence of nationalism in Turkey has forced the debate to be so deeply entrenched in Turkish nationalism that any attempt to admit the existence of the genocide is perceived as a direct attack on the Turkish state or people. (Köksal, ‘Past Not-So-Perfect’, 45).

After Egoyan’s ‘Ararat’ was released, the Canadian-Armenian director received a letter from a young woman asking him why he would create a direct attack on Turkey, in spite of the fact even Turkish intellectuals and critics have noted the film’s leniency towards Turkey (Köksal, ‘Past Not-So-Perfect’, 46). This indicates just how deeply rooted this association is in some sections of society, due to nationalist rhetoric and hegemonic thinking. Reading this prompted me to ask an old friend, who was born and raised in Turkey until the age of 11, and whose parents were born and lived there for 40+ years about what he was taught in Turkey. Almost exactly like Ali, the Turkish actor who questions the Director about wether or not the genocide happened in ‘Ararat,’ my friend deferred to the argument that while the genocide did occur, the Armenians were not innocent and committed their own atrocities towards Turkish civilians. When asked where he got this counter information from he admitted it was entirely from Turkish sources. He explained that even his left-wing, liberal parents rely on that narrative to deny genocide and label it, instead, as a conflict.

This originates in what Gocek calls the ‘Postnationalist Critical Narrative.’ The suggestion that Turks have no problem with Armenians, and therein have provided a clean slate, portrays Armenians like Egoyan as aggressors for their suggestion of the historic guilt of the Turkish state and claims of genocide. This narrative follows a long period of investigations which ended with the state declaring the Armenians as collaborators with imperial powers during the First World War and having ties to ASALA attacks, which became known as the ‘Republican Defence Narrative,’ whose effects still linger on the Turkish population (Köksal, ‘Past Not-So-Perfect’, 51, 52).

Gocek’s research is further relevant to the portrayals of the Genocide, as they both have found use in the same sources, memoirs, diaries and the like, in order to provide evidence and give a voice to the silenced. Due to her realisation that an alternate view would provide a different perspective to that written by Ottoman officials, as part of a larger attempt to provide decolonised histories, especially of minorities, she used similar sources to that of ‘Ararat’ and ‘The Promise’ (Gocek, ‘Review: Postcoloniality, the Ottoman Past, and the Middle East Present,’ 552). However, even the perspectives of missionary-philanthropists, such as Clarence Ussher’s diary in ‘Ararat,’ tend to be ‘filiopietistic’, centring Armenian tradition and ancestry. This indicates the genuine utility of these films in combating denialists and providing an alternative voice (Payaslian, ‘The US and the Armenian Genocide’, 132).

Identity

Woven into Egoyan’s film are certain cornerstones of Armenian identity, to establish the legitimacy and prevalence of Armenian identity both in historic Armenia and the diaspora of which he is a part. It also serves to establish the Armenians as unique within the Ottoman context, as opposed to ‘The Promise’, which uses symbols of Turkishness like the Fez as means to distinguish Turks from ‘non-Turks.’ The first shot of Egoyan’s film, and the film within, is of the famous Mount Ararat. The perceived resting place of Noah’s Ark, of which Armenians think of themselves as direct descendants, is a symbol of both Armenia’s previous location, as well as the intrinsically Christian nature of Armenian identity. This juxtaposition against the fact that Mt Ararat no longer resides within the Armenian border serves to reinforce the geographically displaced nature of Armenian identity and reminds the viewer that just because something is not inside of Armenian territory, does not make it any less Armenian. The mountain also serves to separate Armenia from Turkey, indicating a political as well as a physical divide (Köksal, ‘Past Not-So-Perfect’, 49). A smaller reference in the opening scene, as well as one of the last scenes, is the inclusion of the pomegranate, another important symbol of Armenian identity, that in ‘Ararat’ the Director of the film (played by Charles Aznavour) attempts to bring past the Canadian border. He later explains that it reminds him of his mother in his homeland, but is also a nod to one of Atom Egoyan’s favourite films, ‘The Color of Pomegranates,’ which is another seminal Armenian film.

Image of opened pomegranate by Ivar Leidus, 2020, Wikimedia Creative Commons/share alike; image of Mount Ararat 2026 by Սէրուժ Ուրիշեան (Serouj Ourishian), Wikimedia Creative Commons; Image of poster for The Color of Pomegranates (1969), fair use (image of low resolution for educative purposes).

Apart from being a nod to the displacement of his family, this shares similarities with another focus of ‘Ararat,’ the famous Armenian artist Arshile Gorky. The film delves into Gorky’s relationship with his Mother, which parallels the Directors in the film and the parents of Egoyan’s parents, who were killed in the genocide before his family found refuge in Cairo (Köksal, ‘Past Not-So-Perfect’, 54). The painter is renowned for rendering his mother’s hands unfinished, in a painting based on the last photo of the two of them together, back in Van (Ottoman Turkey). It is speculated that this was Gorky’s means of revisiting his mother after her passing, showing the use of art to contend with the personal and cultural impacts of genocide. This is something also emulated by Egoyan in the film. Furthermore, the naming of Egoyan’s son, Arshile, proves the closeness of the subject matter to his heart and the inherent Armenian-ness of the name. The inclusion of the Gorky storyline also places Armenian heritage within a global context as he was one of the most prominent figures in the Abstract Expressionist movement with the likes of Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko and Willem de Kooning. Similarly to Egoyan and the Director of the film in the film, Gorky left Armenia and made a name for himself as an artist in the West, allowing Gorky (and Egoyan) to act as representations of Diaspora and the space between Armenians and their homeland, – a prominent feature of their identity as there are Armenians all over the globe who champion their heritage (Heckner, ‘Screening Armenian Genocide’, 142).

Arshile Gorky, The Artist and His Mother, 1926- c.1936, wikipedia public domain image, painting held at Whitney Museum of American Art https://whitney.org/collection/works/2171

Censorship

It only makes sense that in order to maintain the denial of the genocide a certain degree of censorship would be employed by the Turkish government. For example, I am writing this blog in January of 2023, however due to the fact I have a trip booked to Istanbul this summer, I will be waiting until I am back home to publish it. Just in case.

Genocide is part of a large group of subjects which have been the victim of the censorship of Turkish authorities, including but not limited to religion, the Kurds, and labour histories (Erbal, ‘The Armenian Genocide’, 784). Historian Donald Quataert stated his reservations about the direction of Ottoman Studies in his review of Bloxham’s book, The Great Game of Genocide, implying the existence of a type of influence held by American companies over academics due to their relationships with Turkish companies and the Turkish state (Erbal, ‘The Armenian Genocide’, 784). This later was proven true after Quataert and other academics published a letter in both The New York Times and The Washington Post, in opposition to the use of the term ‘genocide’ in House Resolution 192, thereafter he was essentially forced to give up his position on the board of the Institute of Turkish Studies (Erbal, The Armenian Genocide, 785).

However, surprisingly, the release of the film ‘Ararat’ was met with very little resistance from the Turkish state, having been green-lit for showings in Turkish cinemas, maybe due to its aforementioned even- handed approach to discussing Turkish views of the genocide. What eventually prevented its showing in Turkey was the threat posed by radical nationalist terrorist groups towards viewers. This is not the only case in which these groups proved an obstacle towards Armenian reconciliation and genocide recognition. In 2007, nationalists assassinated Hrant Dink, the famous editor of the newspaper ‘Agos.’ His advocacy for integration, reconciliation, human rights and friendship between Armenians and Turks in ‘Agos’ landed him the Oxfam Award for Freedom of Expression in 2006, and the Hermann Kesten Prize in 2007 (Temelkuran, Deep Mountain, 4). If a proponent of mere peace and equality between the two groups warrants assassination in the view of Turkish nationalists, then it is understandable how accusations of genocide and calls for recognition are seen as so dangerous when one considers how closely intertwined with Turkish identity the subject has come to be.

Photograph of Hrant Dink (1954-2007), wikipedia, fair use image.

Overview

The medium of film holds promise when thinking of spreading the word about the Armenian Genocide. It has proven useful in informing the population on other genocides, and the emergence of the first major, blockbuster and mainstream Hollywood feature film on the subject marked the beginning of gaining it the popular awareness it deserves. Furthermore, film has proven to be a more accessible, more palatable form of information for both people unaware of, or in denial of, the genocide. The power of big screen images effectively does the horrors of the genocide justice, and touches the hearts of the population, while simultaneously introducing the cornerstones of Armenian-ness to the world. Hopefully, this marks the start of many yet-to-be-made films that will explore such a significant, yet underrepresented, chapter in history, and will attempt to rectify the injustice perpetrated by decades of denialism.

Bibliography

Baron, Lawrence. ‘Holocaust and Genocide Cinema: Crossing Disciplinary, Genre, and Geographical Borders: Editor’s Introduction,’ Shofar, 28:4, (2010), 1-9.

Erbal, Ayda. ‘The Armenian Genocide, AKA the Elephant in the Room,’ International Journal of Middle East Studies, 47:4 (2015), 783-790.

Göçek, Fatma Müge. ‘Review: Postcoloniality, the Ottoman Past, and the Middle East Present,’ International Journal of Middle East Studies, 44:3 (2012), 549-563.

Heckner, Elke. ‘Screening the Armenian Genocide: Atom Egoyan’s Ararat between Erasure and Suture,’ Shofar, 28:4, (2010), 133-145.

Köksal, Özlem. ‘”Past Not-So-Perfect”: “Ararat” and Its Reception in Turkey,’ Cinema Journal, 54:1 (2014), 45-64.

Payaslian, Simon. ‘The US and the Armenian Genocide: Review Article,’ Middle East Journal, 59:1 (2005), 132-140.

Temelkuran, Ece. Deep Mountain: Across the Turkish-Armenian Divide (New York, 2010).

To what extent are Armenian women present in photographic narratives of the Armenian genocide?

Posted on by awharton

OLIVIA HENNESSY, BA HISTORY, Year 3, 2022-2023.

When you only remember the photograph, this ‘eclipses other forms of understanding and remembering’ (Sontag, 2003; 89).

Perhaps this is a good reflection on how photographic narratives can be shaped for specific audiences; cameras were a new technology that purported to report the truth and they were more trusted than newspapers, paintings, and other forms of media. Therefore, this blog will look at depictions of the presence of Armenian women in photography of the Armenian Genocide relief efforts and the agenda for ‘documentation’ of the various activist observers. The Armenian genocide was the physical extermination of the Ottoman Empire’s Armenian population as a prerequisite for the establishment of a Turkish nation-state (Kévorkian, 2011, 1). The phrase ‘presence in Absence’ is a significant tool with which to grasp how the ‘past continues to inhabit the present… embedded within the photograph, a trace of the very materiality of the image.’ (Elspeth, ‘Feeling in Photography’, 163). In particular, the lived experiences are inscribed for the audiences of the photo, those in front of the camera, and the person taking the photograph. Furthermore, the images of these women were especially important to relief efforts, particularly how women and children continue to be a way to encourage sympathy in white audiences for non-white peoples (Rogers, 2020; 31). During and after World War One, humanitarianism became a significant movement and the ‘humanitarian aspect increasingly came to the forefront of Christian missions.’ (Okkenhaugh and Summerer, 2020; 6). Christian missionaries endorsed welfare activities that involved ‘ideas and practises for improving people’s lives’, which were mostly ‘presented as subservient to Christian preaching.’ (Okkenhaugh and Summerer, 2020; 1). Although the missionaries had different aims and methods to humanitarians, the ideas of saving people united them together; particularly, women were the especially important in the movements for the ‘survival of the Armenian nation’ (Okkenhaugh and Summerer, 2020; 6). Therefore, this blog will argue that multiple photographic narratives of Armenian women are not actively present due to the unifying effort of the missionary and humanitarian photographer-activists. The chosen photographs that will be analysed are the deportation of Armenian women by Armin Wegner, a humanitarian, a Widow called Jeghsa Muradian through the photographic documentation of Bodil Biørn, a Danish Missionary, and finally, a tattooed Armenian woman taken by Karen Jeppe, a Scandinavian Missionary. Overall, this blog will consider the themes of deportation, abduction, and assimilation of Armenian women through these photographs.

Deportation: As Viewed by Wegner

As part of a ‘brutal state-building project,’ the Turkish-led Committee of Union and Progress (CUP) deported Ottoman-Armenians between 1915 and 1916. (Jinks, 2018; 95). Since the deportations followed the deliberate extermination of Armenian military-aged males, women and children were disproportionately affected (Derderian, 2005; 20). Significantly, age and stage of life at the time of the Genocide were crucial factors in Armenian women’s health and well-being: a woman could become sterile as a result of an ‘unsanitary miscarriage during the deportations’ (Kaprielian-Churchill, 1993; 16). Armin T. Wegner, a humanitarian activist and writer, ‘witnessed the massacres and forced relocation of Armenian deportees’ while stationed in Ottoman Turkey for the duration of the First World War (Payne, 2012; 25). Wegner secretly photographed the ‘carnage and smuggled desperate letters’ from Armenians to the American Embassy (Rooney, 2000; 117). The humanitarian activist presented himself as a ‘mediator of reconciliation’, attempting to persuade his ‘German and international audiences’ to look at photographs and listen to stories of Armenian deportation (Payne, 2012; 26). As a German, Wegner felt especially strongly of the need to convince the audience of what was going on, highlighting the voice of German conscience. Wegner’s open letter to President Woodrow Wilson of the United States of America focuses specifically on the forced deportation of Armenians into the Mesopotamian desert:

‘As one of the few Europeans who have been eyewitnesses of  the dreadful destruction of the Armenian people from the beginning in the flourishing towns and fruitful fields of Anatolia to the wiping out of their miserable remains on the banks of the Euphrates and the desolate, stony Mesopotamian desert, I dare claim the right of bringing to your attention this picture of misery and terror which passed before my eyes for nearly two years, and which will never be obliterated from my mind.’

This ‘misery and terror’ viewed by Wegner is presented in various photographs he took. Particularly, Wegner was attempting to do what he thought was best while also trying to assist these people. However, he took the photographs through the Western eyes and with a Western audience in mind, and thus did not or could not document it entirely. 

Armin T. Wegner. (1915) Armenian Deportees, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute, Wallstein Verlag, Germany. All rights reserved http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/armin_wegner.php

For instance, one of the photographs Wegner captured and represented was primarily of Armenian female deportees, highlighting how the humanitarian purpose in framing the genocide in a certain way contributed to making this image iconic. The photograph was taken in 1915 and is currently displayed on the Armenian Genocide Museum Website. Despite the presence of two Armenian men in the background, the photograph centres on an Armenian woman who is presumably holding her child. The Armenian woman walking alone alludes to her isolation as a deportee, particularly given how the majority of Armenian men were systematically exterminated.  The reality that the deportee is carrying and caring for a baby in the middle of the desert heightens the image of her plight. By considering Wegner’s view on deportation, he constructs this image as an empty landscape. His description of the ‘flourishing towns and fruitful fields of Anatolia’ to the ‘miserable remains’ and ‘desolate, stony Mesopotamian desert’ from the letter to Wilson further demonstrates the image is shaped by his vision of what had happened and how he wished to communicate it. The landscape in the image is desolate, with no signs of habitation; the mountains in this setting appeared to be fading. This photograph was created specifically for western audiences, reinforcing the suffering women endured and the relief efforts Wegner worked for. Saving women was a major concern of the humanitarian movement because it ensured the ‘survival of the Armenian nation’, reuniting with remaining family members, and women were the ones left who needed a home (Watenpaugh, 2014; 167). By emphasising the desolate space, looming figures, and position of the Armenian female deportee, Wegner creates an image of isolation to raise awareness of the Armenian genocide’s atrocities. Consequently, the image became iconic due to the image’s composition and the isolated figure against the landscape, as well as the content of the woman alone with the baby, struggling for survival. Therefore, Wegner’s image of the female Armenian deportee considers the humanitarian objectives, primarily rescuing women, and constructs an empty landscape for Western audiences for his best intentions.

Widows: As Viewed by Bodil Biørn

In the absence of the Armenian male population, there was the growth of Armenian female widows (Derderian, 2005; 14). Armenian widows were also considered orphans during the genocide (Ekmekcioglu, 2016; 28). Hasmik described her mother’s orphaned survival: 

‘My mother lost all of her family… didn’t have one person, not one person!  She was all by herself with some older ladies… mother was the only one in the family left’. (Manoogian, Walker and Richards, 2007; 576)

Bodil Biørn, a member of the Women’s Missionary Workers (Kvindelige Missions Arbejdere, henceforth KMA), travelled from Norway to the Ottoman empire in 1905 and utilized her ‘personal camera’ to take ‘photographs’, writing ‘accounts…the events [that] surround them’. (Bermúdez, 2021; 111). The KMA was Scandinavia’s first independent women’s mission organisation who saw their profession as the ‘protestant calling of missionary work’ (Bermúdez, 2021; 113). Newsletters were used by Biørn and her colleagues to share their work, experiences, solicit funding, and communicate with colleagues all over the world (Okkenhaugh, 2020; 91; Bermúdez, 2021; 116). The photographs that have survived to this day supplement the written texts, providing a picture of the ‘Armenians in Mush’ through the eyes of the missionaries (Bermúdez, 2021; 116). These photographs reflect the mission, specifically focusing on evangelization, healing, and welfare, which was practiced by Biørn (Okkenhaugh and Summerer, 2020; 9).

Bodil Biørn. Widow Jeghsa Muradian, Collection of Bodil Biørn, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute, http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/bodil_biorn.php

The missions, as seen by Biørn, reshapes the photograph of an Armenian widow, where she is standing alone and surrounded by the snow. The account from Hasmik’s mother similarly alludes to the image- she was ‘all by herself’ (Manoogian, Walker and Richards, 2007; 576). The image was donated to the Genocide Museum Institute in Yerevan, Armenia, and is prominently displayed in the Museum’s photographic exhibits, both online and in person (Bermúdez, 2021; 129). The website serves not only as a public engagement tool, but also as a news platform for the most recent updates and events related to the Armenian Genocide (Bermúdez, 2021; 129). The Genocide Museum and Institute is a state organ in Armenia and the director plays an important role in public life. This institution displays these photographs so prominently, which meant that the missionary and humanitarian agenda became internalised by Armenia in its fight for recognition. By considering Armenian women’s memories of loss and grieving, this photographic narrative illustrates the orphaned nature of the woman. The widowed Armenian woman, like the deportation photograph, is looking away from the camera. However, as the image was produced by Biørn, it was generated for a missionary purpose, alleviating the suffering of the Armenian women in order to demonstrate the importance of the assistance Biørn and other missionaries provided following the genocide. This reinforces further the encouragement to join the relief effort; the setting appears to be a monastery, which relates to one of Biørn’s missions of evangelization. These women are shown covered and dressed in plain rag-like clothing, almost appearing as nuns. The widow is alone in the snow, but the implication is that she is within the walls of a monastery, dressed as a nun, and hence protected by the missionaries and God. As such, this photograph highlights the widow’s own shadowy presence and how it was reshaped by Biørn’s missionary perspectives and efforts.

Abduction and Assimilation: As Viewed by Karen Jeppe

Abduction and violence against Armenian women were some of the common fates during the genocide, where they were subjected to torture, assimilation, forced marriage, rape, and forced conversion to Islam. Nevzat, a young Kurdish man, recalled his knowledge on the stories about:

 ‘Two Armenian women in his family who had been abducted and – after they had converted to Islam – had been married to his great-uncles.’ (Zerrin Özlem Biner 2010; 80)

Karen Jeppe was a Danish missionary and crucial in trying to ‘rescue’ Islamized Armenian women. Jeppe was a prominent League of Nations relief worker, frequently contributing narratives, and images of ‘rescued Armenian girls to the London-based periodical the Slave Market News’ (Watenpaugh, 2015; 136). The mandate system of the League of Nations established a ‘new framework’ for Catholic and Protestant missions; although volunteer and relief efforts continued, humanitarianism in the Middle East was then brought under the purview of the League of Nations (Okkenhaugh and Summerer, 2020; 95). Jeppe was not attempting to convert Armenians to her brand of Protestant Christianity, but rather ‘actively’ defending the moral fortitude of their own traditional religion, which she saw as an integral part of their national identity and the foundation of their humanity (Watenpaugh, 2014; 167).

Karen Jeppe Alboom. (1920s) Islamized and tattooed Armenian woman with a close up of the tattoos, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute  http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/online_exhibition_2.php

This photograph taken by Jeppe depicts an Islamized and tattooed Armenian woman from the 1920s; as a tribal custom, the Arab, Kurdish, or Turkish men who forced Armenian women into marriage marked specific tattoos.  Many of these women despised their tattoos, and some of them disfigured themselves while attempting to remove them with acid (Ekmekcioglu, 2013; 549). Simple geometrical black lines and dots are scattered over her forehead and chin, with a curved line with a dot in the middle on her forehead. Her hand displays various lines on it, including black circular lines and cultural patterns, and she has a solemn expression on her face. This image alludes to the hidden legacy of tattooed Armenian women, the numbers of which are unknown, whose marks appeared to make them the property of their new owner. Indeed, humanitarians and missionaries, such as Jeppe, considered the Armenian women and children sequestered in Muslim homes in this manner to be slaves, consistently referring to their situation as slavery and documenting not only a lack of wages but also ‘child marriage, forced conversion, and trafficking’ as factors in their enslavement (Watenpaugh, 2015; 136). By taking Jeppe’s position as a Danish missionary into account, the Armenian woman’s image has been reshaped to document relief perspectives of the tattooed woman’s ‘slavery’, highlighting what happened during the genocide rather than allowing the woman her distinctness. As a result, the photograph highlights her slavery by restricting the woman’s Armenianness, demonstrating the divide between Armenian and non-Armenian identities, as well as the humanitarian and missionary objectives of constructing these images; the tattoos ‘mark and modify the boundary between self and world’ (Derderian, 2005; 126). From this, these tattoos represent the trauma and alienation of Armenian women in a non-Armenian society. As tattoos are permanent reminders of the suffering Armenian women have endured and their relationships with Arab, Kurdish, or Turk men, this photo has captured the corruption of women’s purity and innocence (Derderian, 2005; 136). Furthermore, because the tattoos are the first thing that we see, the viewer loses the presence of the woman, further diminishing the sense of identity and highlighting her slavery. There is also an element of exoticism in the image, which would pique the interest of western observers and possibly entice them to join the humanitarian effort while depriving the sitter of her own honour. Honour was a crucial component in Armenian society, whereby men in the Diaspora stepped in to marry rescued women, thereby rescuing the Armenian nation’s ‘power, honour, and masculinity’ (Ekmekcioglu, 2016; 38). Therefore, the ‘branded’ nature of these Armenian women might also have encouraged pathos and action from men in the Diaspora, who wanted to recapture their own masculinity at a time when they felt otherwise helpless to prevent the destruction of their people in the Ottoman Empire.

Conclusion

Overall, Armenian women are not actively present in photographic narratives of the Armenian Genocide. Their ‘presence in absence’ is a common anomaly within the photographs that have been analysed, where the images have been reshaped for varying aspects of the relief efforts. The permanent reminders of individuals in the photographs are absent for the viewers, de-personalizing the photographic narratives for Western and Diaspora audiences. These women have been made into categories in a way: the deportee, the widow, the tattooed woman. Wegner, Biørn, and Jeppe developed and presented these categories to the world as a way of representing the Armenian genocide and encouraging participation in the relief effort. However, these photographs are destructive because they overshadow the identities of the Armenian women. For example, the photograph depicting an Islamized and tattooed Armenian woman, which was taken by Jeppe, highlights her slavery by restricting the woman’s Armenianness, demonstrating the divide between Armenian and non-Armenian identities, as well as the humanitarian and missionary objectives of constructing these images. The fact that the Armenian Genocide Museum displays these photos so prominently now suggests that the missionary and humanitarian agenda got internalised by Armenia in its fight for recognition. Through uncritically fore grounding these photographs, taken by humanitarian activists and missionaries, we are extending a process that has eclipsed the understanding and knowledge of Armenian women’s full experiences during the genocide. 

Bibliography

Primary Material

Abloom, Karen Jeppe. (1920s) Islamized and tattooed Armenian woman with a close up of the tattoos, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute, accessed 10th November 2022 http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/online_exhibition_2.php

Biørn, Bodil. Widow Jeghsa Jeghiasarian, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute, accessed 10th November 2022 http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/bodil_biorn.php

Wegner, Armin T. (1915) Armenian Deportees, Armenian Genocide Museum and Institute, accessed 10th November 2022 http://www.genocide-museum.am/eng/armin_wegner.php

Wegner, Armin T. (2000) An open letter to the President of the United States of America, Woodrow Wilson, on the mass deportation of the Armenians into the Mesopotamian desert, Journal of Genocide Research, 2 (1), 127-132.

Secondary Material

Alloa, E. (2015) ‘Afterimages: Belated Witnessing in the Photographs of the Armenian Catastrophe’ Journal of Literature and Trauma Studies 4 (1-2), pp. 43-65.

Bermúdez Qvortrup, N. (2021) ‘The Bodil Biørn collection and its community of records: A responsibility with the victims’ Norsk arkivforum, (27), pp. 111-142.

Derderian, K. (2005) ‘Common Fate, Different Experience: Gender-Specific Aspects of the Armenian Genocide, 1915-1917’ Holocaust and Genocide Studies, 19 (1), pp. 1–25.

Ekmekcioglu, L. (2016) Recovering Armenia: The Limits of Belonging in Post-Genocide Turkey California: Stanford University Press.

Eknekcioglu, L. (2013) ‘A Climate for Abduction, a Climate for Redemption: The Politics of Inclusion during and after the Armenian Genocide’ Comparative Studies in Society and History 55 (3), pp. 522-553.

Glum, L. (2021) ‘The Tattoos of Armenian Genocide Survivors: Inscribing the Female Body as a Practice of Regulation’ Journal for Religion, Film and Media 7 (1) pp. 123-143.

Jinkins, R. (2018) “Marks Hard to Erase”: The Troubled Reclamation of “Absorbed” Armenian Women, 1919–1927’’ The American Historical Review 123 (1) pp. 86-123.

Kaprielian-Churchill, I. (1993) ‘Armenian Refugee Women: The Picture Brides, 1920-1930’ Journal of American Ethnic History 12 (3), pp. 3-29.

Kévorkian, R. (2011) The Armenian Genocide : A Complete History London: I.B.Tauris.

Low, D. (2022) Picturing the Ottoman Armenian World: Photography in Erzerum, Harput, Van and Beyond. London: Bloomsbury Publishing.

Low, D. (2015) ‘Photography and the Empty Landscape: Excavating the Armenian Image World’ Towards Inclusive Art Histories: Ottoman Armenian Voices Speak Back, pp. 1-64.

Low, D. (2016) The Returning Hero and the Exiled Villain: The Image of The Armenian in Ottoman Society, 1908-1916′ International Journal of Armenian Genocide Stories 3 (1) pp. 51-71. 

Monoogian, M. Walker A, Richards, L. (2007) ‘Gender, Genocide, and Ethnicity: The Legacies of Older Armenian American Mothers’ Journal of Family Issues 28 (1) pp. 567-589.

Michels, S. (2020) ‘Re-framing Photography – Some Thoughts’ in Sissy Helff and Stefanie Michels (eds.) Global Photographies Oxford: Routledge, pp. 9-17.

Moller, F. (2010) ‘Rwanda Revisualised: Genocide, Photography, and the Era of the Witness’ Alternatives 35 (2010), 113-136. 

Okkenhaugh, Marie I. (2015) ‘Religion, Relief and Humanitarian Work among Armenian Women Refugees in Mandatory Syria, 1927-1934′ Scandanavian Journal of History 40 (3), pp. 432-454. 

Okkenhaugh, Maire I. (2020) ‘Spiritual Reformation and Engagement with the World: Scandinavian Mission, Humanitarianism, and Armenians in the Ottoman Empire, 1905-1914′ in Inger Marie Okkenhaug and Karene Sanchez Summerer (eds.) Christian Missions and Humanitarianism in The Middle East, 1850-1950: Ideologies, Rhetoric, and Practices, Leiden: Brill.

Ozlem Biner, Z. (2010) ‘Acts of Defacement, Memories of Loss: Ghostly Effects of the “Armenian Crisis” in Mardin, Southeastern Turkey’ History and Memory 22 (2), pp. 68-94.

Payne, C. (2012) “A Question of Humanity in its Entirety”: Armin T. Wegner as Intermediary of Reconciliation between Germans and Armenians in Interwar German Civil Society’ in Birgit Schwelling (ed.) Reconciliation, Civil Society, and the Politics of Memory. Germany: Transcript Verlag, pp. 25-50.

Rogers, M. (2020) ‘Twice Captured: the Work of Atrocity Photography’ in Msrk Durden and Jane Tormey (eds.) The Routledge Companion to Photography Theory. London: Routledge, pp. 228-242.

Rooney, M. (2000) ‘A Forgotten Humanist: Armin T. Wegner’ Journal of Genocide Research 2 (1), pp. 117-119.

Sontag, S. (1979) On Photography. London: Penguin.

Sontag, S. (2006) ‘The image-world’ in Sunil Manghani; Arthur Piper; Jon Simons (eds.) Images: A Reader. London: SAGE Publications Ltd, pp. 80-94.

Sontag, S. (2003) Regarding the Pain of Others. London: Penguin.

Tusan, M. (2014) “Crimes against Humanity”: Human Rights, the British Empire, and the Origins of the Response to the Armenian Genocide’ The American Historical Review 119 (1), pp. 47-77.

Twomey, C. (2012) ‘Framing Atrocity: Photography and Humanitarianism’. History of Photography, 36 (3), pp. 255-264.

Watenpaugh, K. (2015) Bread from Stones: The Middle East and the Making of Modern Humanism California: University of California Press.

Watenpaugh, K. (2014) ‘Between Communal Survival and National Aspiration: Armenian Genocide Refugees, the League of Nations, and the Practices of Interwar Humanitarianism’ Humanity: An International Journal of Human Rights, Humanitarianism, and Development, 5 (2), pp. 159-181.

Teaching Armenian History at the University of Lincoln

Posted on by awharton

For several years, I have taught a broad survey of Armenian History at the University of Lincoln in the UK, which encompasses everything from ideas about the origins of the Armenian people and Armenian identity, to the medieval ‘Golden Age’ of Ani, to the early modern trade diasporas, to the modern ‘rise of nationalism’ in the Russian and Ottoman empires, and the turbulent histories of the First, Second and Third Armenian Republic. Students have little or no knowledge of Armenia before enrolling on the course and the content is intended as an introduction for outsiders to Armenian History, but also as a critique of some of the conceits of teaching Armenian History within Armenian Studies. We explore these varied eras of Armenian History through investigating how cultural production was used to mould and shape Armenian communities’ presence and identity in different geographical settings, with a focus on their relationships to imperial systems, modes of rule and hierarchies. We also chart how Armenian communities and individuals used cultural means to raise their voices at a series of points through their history. The content draws heavily on my own area of research pertaining to Ottoman Armenian architects and cultural producers, but also touches on areas as diverse as Armenian cultural production in New Julfa, British-Armenian pamphlets and lobbying about the Ottoman ethnic violence, and Genocide films made in the present-day Diaspora. For a snapshot of the course content see the videos recorded by the Armenian community centre, Hayashen, in Ealing in Spring 2023, such as: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xz82t4sOB68